


The Midnight Hour

by Kat_Rowe



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe
Summary: James seeks solace in Helen's arms after attending a particularly gruesome crime scene. (Previously posted on fanfiction.net).





	The Midnight Hour

Helen had spent the day working in her lab. It was so late when she finally heeded her own weariness that she had to rouse her maid from a slumber. The girl never minded, though. Her duties were light compared to most, merely helping Helen into her clothes in the morning and out of them at night. Helen was independent enough that little else was ever required of her.

Smiling drowsily as she helped Helen out of her corset, she asked, "Have you been working all this time, Miss?"

"I was in the middle of an important project, Greta," she answered, not mentioning the tryst with John that had, at one point, interrupted her work.

That, after all, had been hours ago, and she would have worked late even if her fiancé hadn't visited earlier. Besides, it was none of Greta's business how she spent her time. The girl's only job was to help her with the ridiculous dresses that she was wearing with less and less frequency lately. She preferred more sensible clothes that she could navigate on her own and, anyway, one didn't actually need to remove even the most complicated of clothing to enjoy a quick bout of lovemaking. If there'd been some necessity of removing her dress to be close to John, she might have made the girl her confidant. As it was, she saw no real need for anyone beyond her own small circle of close friends to know what she and John got up to. No one else would understand. Even her own father would have been disappointed at best and horrified or even disgusted at worst.

"You must be exhausted, Miss Helen. You'll sleep well tonight," Greta predicted, helping her out of her under-things with the brisk efficiency of long practice. "Shall I have tea sent up?" she offered, urging Helen's arms up so she could help her into a warm, floor-length nightgown.

"No, no. It's so late. Let the others sleep. And you go back to bed as well. I'm sorry I had to wake you, but that dress..."

"Oh, don't be sorry," she chuckled, yawning. "It's job security, as they say. Where will women like me be when the Society For Rational Dress takes over entirely, after all?"

"I'm sure we'll still find something to keep you occupied. Or you'll find a new position with a new mistress. There will always be ladies who put fashion above common sense and independence."

"I just wish you were one of them," she answered, lacing up Helen's nightgown and giving her shoulder a squeeze. "I'd miss you, working for anyone else."

She smiled warmly at that, squeezing the girl's shoulder in return. "Well, thank you, Greta. Now get some rest. I must have woken you from a sound sleep, calling for you at this hour. But I can hardly sleep in a corset!"

"And no one would ask you to try. I never mind, Miss Helen," she assured her, smiling and dropping a quick curtsy before taking her leave.

Smiling, she moved slowly around the room, putting everything in order so she could retire to bed with a clear conscience. Sleep had been increasingly elusive since they'd all taken the Source, and even minor distractions like a hairbrush out of place could entirely deflect her from the pursuit. Not that she seemed to _need_ as much as she once had, but it was still nice to sleep from time to time. So, when she did opt to do so, she always made sure that there was absolutely nothing to disturb her restful mood.

Of course, not all disruptions could be controlled for. Like the sudden pounding on her bedroom door.

She jumped as the noise abruptly demolished the near silence that had prevailed before, heart suddenly hammering in her chest. It could only be an emergency. Nothing else would have compelled anyone to disturb her so rudely at such a late hour. Swallowing hard and slipping on a robe, she moved to her bedroom door, pulling it open.

James was standing there, eyes wide and a bit frantic. Biting her lip, she tugged the robe more tightly around her person, watching him a little uncertainly. He was clearly not himself, and that raised alarming possibilities as to the reasons for his presence.

"James, what have you taken?" she asked gently, not opening the door any further.

"What? What? No, Helen, nothing. Nothing, I promise you," he answered, looking distracted and worried but not, as she'd initially feared, under the influence of anything mind-altering. "You know I stopped using..."

"Of course, forgive me," she murmured, peeking past him to make sure the hallway was empty before ushering him inside. "You just startled me, coming at this late hour, and in such a state. Whatever has happened, James?"

"Not even if I _could_ tell you." He shook his head, looking abruptly sheepish. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. I just... you see, I had a fright, and... well, it seemed almost instinct to seek you out. I'm not interrupting, am I? You and John, I mean? Or..."

"No, James, he's not here. He was called away. Work," she explained, frowning up at him. He was pale, sweaty, his hands trembling just slightly. He was in a state, as she'd first deduced, and she didn't hesitate to steer him to the sofa next to the banked remains of her fire. "I can send for tea," she offered.

"I wouldn't say no to something a bit stronger," he admitted, giving her a smile entirely lacking in conviction.

"Brandy," she agreed, pushing him down onto the sofa. "Sit and I'll bring some. Don't move, all right?"

"No. No, I won't go anywhere," he promised. "It's too good to see you."

She swallowed at that, taking her leave more quickly than she might have otherwise. If he'd been intoxicated in any way, she might have feared that he was about to try to profess his unspoken love for her. But, clearly, something far more serious and disturbing was weighing on his mind. His obvious sobriety somehow made him coming to her in the dead of night seem downright foreboding. It simply wasn't like him. Something was very wrong.

She brought back a bottle, along with two tumblers, and poured them each a large drink, suspecting they would need it before all was said and done. He accepted his without a word and half-drained the oversized draught, grimacing a bit. Sighing, she perched next to him, fidgeting with her own glass.

"It's too late for you to be here, James. You'd best tell me what's going on," she urged him gently.

"I'm sorry. You must think the worst of me, intruding at such an hour. I can only assure you that I haven't taken any cocaine and that this is my first drink of the night."

"I believe you, James. That's what has me so worried. I've never seen you in such a state. Has something happened? Is everyone all right?"

"I... everyone we know and love is fine. I'm sorry if I had you worried that this might not be the case," he answered, clearly struggling to compose himself. "I merely... well, I was called to a crime scene tonight..."

She bit her lip at that, studying his face more closely. He'd stood over many dead bodies in his short career consulting with the Yard, and she'd never seen him so visibly shaken by the aftermath of violence.

"You can tell me the worst," she soothed gently, reaching for his hand.

"Oh, not if you wish to sleep," he countered, which didn't stop him from slipping his fingers firmly through hers. "It was terrible, Helen. I've never seen the like."

"I've never seen you so upset, James. Why don't you tell me?"

"There's been another prostitute killed. I... I can't describe it to you. I won't."

"James, I'm not some innocent child to be sheltered from life's harsh realities. I'm your friend and I always want to share your burdens. You can tell me."

"A great many terrible things were done, but... her womb was removed, Helen," he whispered, hand tightening around hers.

She heard herself gasp at that, and couldn't quite stop herself before her hand had moved protectively against her abdomen. James clearly noted the motion, gave her an apologetic look and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. Certainly not to burden you with something like this."

"No. I am your friend. My own condition aside, I want to support you in this, James. It's not right that you have to endure this alone. I can't imagine how this all must be affecting you, and I won't have that compounded by needless solitude."

"I try to imagine the man capable of such atrocities, and I fail. All I can see is a monster."

"And clearly he _is_ a monster, James."

"Not of the sort your father works with. This is something new, something different. And it's my conviction that he'll kill again, and again, until stopped."

"You will stop him, James. I believe in you. I know you can solve this."

"I'm not sure I want to," he admitted, draining his brandy and leaning past her to retrieve the bottle and refill his glass.

"James!" she protested.

"How do I solve crimes, Helen? I put myself inside the minds of the criminals. I reason out what I would do, how I would act, in their shoes. This is one pair of shoes I can't abide the thought of stepping into."

"Oh, James," she sighed, taking a sip of her drink and then setting it down. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you."

"Yet..." He looked up at her slowly, expression somehow defeated and challenging at once. "Say it."

"You'll do what you must. You always do," she pointed out apologetically. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone, James, but I know you. I know who and what you are, and therefore how you'll act. You won't like it, but you'll do what you must."

He smiled bitterly in answer to that, draining his glass and reaching for her abandoned one. "You carry the child of the two people I love most in the world. I won't see that child come into a world that holds such a man. The Ripper _will_ hang for what he's done, no matter what it does to my peace of mind."

"We love you, too, James, and we'll be here for you in any way we can, each of us, always. You have my word on that. We'll do everything we can to make this as painless as possible."

"I'm afraid there's no possibility of a painless resolution, darling," he sighed, seeming to not even notice that he'd referred to her by an endearment instead of her name. "But I'm grateful for your support all the same. I love you both so much. I don't think I could investigate this case alone. But I know the two of you will give me strength."

"Of course we will. It's what friends do," she promised. "But, James, why did you seem so frantic when you came to my door tonight?"

"I just... for one moment, a dark voice... just a thought, but like a whisper in my ear 'it could have been her'..."

She swallowed at that, trying not to think about that too closely. It wasn't so much that he was comparing her to a prostitute, or even that he was implying that only the Grace of God kept her from a brutal murder. Those were true things. Only the lucky circumstances of her birth had kept her, an aspiring doctor, from plying a very different trade in the back alleys of the East End. And anyone could die at any time, by natural causes, tragic accident, or deliberate murder. She knew these things and they were food for thought, but they didn't move her all that much. What left her feeling more nauseous than she did even in the throes of morning sickness, was the realisation of what her loss might actually mean to him, of how much he must care for her to be so affected by just the passing thought.

Pushing up her sleeve, she extended her arm to him. "Take my pulse," she directed firmly, not sure how else to reassure him. It was clear that he was still upset, even as it was obvious that he was taking comfort in her company. John, when upset, sometimes liked listening to her heart. She could hardly allow _that_ , but she could do something close. She was hopeful that this double reassurance would do more to soothe him than her mere presence could. "Feel my heartbeat."

He didn't have to be told twice. His fingertips were cold and clammy against her wrist, but she didn't mind, not if it would help him. He closed his eyes and she could almost _see_ him silently counting each beat of her heart. Slowly, visibly, he relaxed, the colour returning to his face and an almost-smile touching his lips. Smiling in answer to that, she rested the fingertips of her other hand lightly against his wrist.

"Feeling a bit better?" she ventured.

"A bit," he answered, opening his eyes. "But may I be frank with you, Helen?"

"Always, I hope."

"I... I never thought to say these words, but I'm in over my head with this case. It's one thing to solve a crime where someone is murdered in a fit of anger. It's horrible and unnatural and pointless, but there's a kind of sense to it that's absent here. This is just... bestial."

"Bestial, James? But that implies lack of motive. You once told me there's _always_ a motive."

"I think, in this case, the only motive is a simple love of carnage. It's terrible, Helen."

He sighed deeply, edging closer and resting his head lightly against her shoulder. It was far too intimate when she was betrothed to John, but she couldn't bring herself to stop him, either. He was so upset, so shaken by this latest death, that all she could do was comfort him. He was her best friend; it was only right. He would have done the same for her. Nor was it simply an obligation. It felt absolutely right and proper to give him what support and relief she could. Sighing, she slid her arm around his back, holding him there.

"Thank you, Helen. I can't tell you how deeply this has affected me. Your friendship makes a world of difference."

"I could never do anything but help you, James. You know that."

"I do. I'm just not sure how I came to deserve such compassion from a woman as amazing as you."

"Don't," she urged quietly, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against his hair. "You know how John hates to hear you boys flatter me."

"He does," James answered quietly, sounding deeply troubled. "I can't even remember when he started being so jealous."

"Probably the moment I said yes to him," she admitted, "but he's a good man. Just scared to lose me."

"I'd be scared to lose you, too, I suppose."

"But you still don't approve of it in John?"

"Jealous implies ownership. You know my feelings on that subject."

"You and your Free Love ideals. The real world is seldom so simple as you sometimes try to make it, James Watson," she told him, not really chiding. She'd never really understood how he could so readily step back while the only man he'd ever loved got engaged, and to a woman who was his best friend, and not be remotely upset by it. He was a unique and tolerant man, without question. But most men were not so tolerant about their lovers. "Could these murders of yours be unrelated? Just... independent fits of jealous rage? Surely that could account for the violence to the bodies?"

"No, I think not," he murmured, not lifting his head from her shoulder. "There's a similarity about them I can hardly explain, almost like... a signature: unique to the man leaving it behind. As much as I'd like to blame the attacks on blind rage there has, so far, been a control to them that defies such an assumption. I'm not sure it can last, but there's a very real deliberation to what's being done to those poor women at present."

She bit her lip at that. "You said they were cut into? You don't think it was the work of a medical man?"

"It's hard to say. Anyone from a doctor to a butcher to a hunter to a housewife knows how to wield a knife. It would be wrong to exclude anyone yet."

"Where does that leave you?" she asked, reaching up and threading her fingers lightly through his hair.

He closed his eyes at that, sighing softly and quietly submitting to those attentions for some moments before answering, "Squarely in the dark, I'm afraid. A place I'm not used to being, I might add."

"No, but you'll find your answers in the end. You always do," she pointed out gently.

"I don't know whether to find your faith in me comforting or intimidating. I don't want to fail, Helen, not in something as important as this. There are moments when I can't see how I could possibly succeed, though. This case isn't like the others. I'm trying to put myself into the mind of a madman."

"He can't be as mad as all that, can he?" she asked, biting her lip thoughtfully. "Surely he would have been caught by now if he were truly mad?"

"I'm afraid that madness comes in more subtle forms than we're normally led to believe. One needn't always be senseless and erratic to be truly mad. It's my belief that we're dealing with a man who's sane and stable by day, but gripped by this dark mania come the night time. I wonder if his poor wife even suspects anything is amiss."

"You think he's married? As much as he must hate women?"

"Most men, who can afford to do so, marry. Even in the lower classes, couples sometimes live together as man and wife without solemnizing it officially. Pairing off seems to be our natural state of existence."

"Why not simply target his wife, then?" she asked, frowning. "Why attack strangers?"

"It may be, from his behaviour, that he only hates a certain type of woman. Perhaps his wife or lover was once unfaithful, or he only suspects as much in his madness. So he targets prostitutes, women who will sleep with most anyone. It could easily be his way of getting revenge without having to admit that he no longer loves or trusts his wife. Hell, maybe he truly does love her. She's a paragon of virtue in this sinful world he hates so much: the only woman not fit to be executed for her crimes."

"You make him sound obsessed. But, I suppose he must be, to commit crimes like these. Will it make him easier to catch, James?" she asked uncertainly.

Knowledge of the criminal mind was one of the few fields she was not an adept in. In discussing such cases, they were in his territory, not her own. For once, she didn't have all the answers. It gave her a fleeting glimpse into at least part of the reason why this must be so difficult for him. Being a genius, one became used to having most of the answers. Suddenly not knowing the solution instantly, especially in such a grim and important matter, was both frightening and a bit maddening.

Sighing, she rested her cheek against his hair again. His head was still resting on her shoulder, which was highly inappropriate given her circumstances, but she couldn't bring herself to chide her best friend for seeking comfort. It felt nice, sitting so close their bodies were touching. There was a comfort in it that she never felt being close to John. Touching his body with her own always roused other feelings entirely; passion and need, not peace and contentment. She supposed it was because her affection for James was of such a different type, and existed for entirely different reasons.

There was an innocence to their interactions, one lacking from her contact with John. Despite that, it sometimes saddened her, seeing James when he watched her with John. That wistful look on his face while he watched his two best friends in the world together. She could never be entirely sure which one he was pining for, nor did it much matter. She sometimes suspected that he might still be sleeping with John, but she'd never cared to challenge either man on the subject. What happened between men seldom interfered, after all, with matters between men and women. She couldn't bring herself to be jealous, not when the two men had been best friends for years before either had even known of her existence. James had made his decision to support their relationship entirely, had agreed to be the best man at their upcoming wedding. Clearly he felt nothing like jealousy towards them, either. Between most in their situation, it would have been an uneasy truce at best. Between the three of them, everything was love and friendship. She supposed it was just one more thing that made them unique.

"I should go," he whispered finally, not making any move to straighten or draw away from her. "This isn't right."

"It's fine, James. You need this, I think."

"Probably. But John..."

She bit her lip hard at that. As much as she liked to tell herself that John understood her close relationships with the others, there was no denying that jealousy had been creeping into his manner lately. He didn't like when she hugged, or held hands, or even just spent too much time alone, with one of the other men in their little circle. If he'd walked in to see them like this now, he certainly would have had a great deal to say on the matters of decency and propriety.

But she didn't withdraw, either. She'd always resented men who tried to control her and, if she accepted a bit of jealousy from John, it was only because of his position in her life. As father of her child, it might be that he had some inherent right to tell her what to do, and who with. A thought which left her feeling vaguely queasy. She certainly hadn't intended to sacrifice any independence when she entered into a relationship with John but, somehow, she'd managed to all the same. Maybe that was how all relationships were. But she still vaguely resented it, and kept one arm firmly around James's shoulder.

"Never mind John," she told him. "I never see him on nights where he has to work late. He won't intrude."

"I'm not sure it's quite fair to call it an intrusion, under the circumstances. He is..."

"He is not my owner, James. If I chose to embrace my best friend, that's my prerogative."

"Thank you. You're a good woman, Helen," he sighed, smiling up at her without lifting his head from her shoulder.

She smiled back, doing her best to ignore the unabashed love in his gaze. Part of her couldn't help but wonder how different her life would be if she'd chosen him instead of John, but it was only a small part. He was a good man, but she loved John, was happy with him, happier than she'd ever imagined being with a man. As long as James remained her best friend, as long as the others were closer to her than any friends she'd ever had, she couldn't regret a thing.

"You'll solve this case," she assure him, since it was obviously still very much on his mind. "You just need to put that beautiful mind to work on it."

His smile turned shy and he bit his lip at her words. "Beautiful?"

"Well, it is. No one could deny that..."

"Tell that to my family."

"The Five are your family now, James. You don't need any other one," she assured him firmly.

His own family had never accepted his eccentricities, nor seen all the things that made him so very special. As far as she was concerned, he was better off without them. She and the others loved him, and he loved them, more than enough to make up for any loss.

"No, I truly don't," he murmured, reaching for her hand. "I sometimes don't know where I'd be without all of you."

For a start, he freely admitted that only her friendship kept him clear of cocaine. She did her best not to consider such things, or what other consequences might follow unrestrained drug use in a man like James.

"Better not to think about," she whispered, letting him take her hand. "You _do_ have us, and that's all that counts."

"Yes, I suppose it is," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "I'm lucky to have you."

"All of us are lucky to have you, too, James."

He straightened, clearing his throat. "Not quite what I meant."

"James, don't," she protested, shaking her head but not making any effort to free her hand.

"No. No, of course not," he conceded, straightening and drawing away. "It's indecently late. I shouldn't stay much longer."

She bit her lip at that, not really wanting him to go after he'd clearly been so upset earlier. "But..."

"Hush, Helen."

He gave her hand another squeeze, bringing it to his face and, for the first time in their friendship, lightly touching lips to skin. Her heart gave a pleasant flutter at that, and she bit her lip as she watched him linger over the chaste kiss. When he finally turned his eyes from her hand to her face, it was with a sheepish expression, like a little boy with a crush.

"You rascal," she teased gently. "How long have you been wanting to do that, I wonder?"

He blushed, and hesitated before answering, "For a long time now. Best not say how long."

"No, I'll imagine not," she agreed, smiling reassuringly at the clearly-shy man. "Feeling better now?"

"Worlds better. I really can't thank you enough." Not relinquishing his hold on her hand, he climbed to his feet. "I was a great deal shaken by the things I saw tonight, but this short time in your company has settled my nerves remarkably. I thank you, Helen Magnus."

"It's my pleasure, James, as you well know. You can come to me any time."

"Helen, I... if you had been in bed with John," he began slowly, not meeting her eye.

"I still would have found the time for you," she promised. "Believe me."

"I do. And it warms my heart more than I can say." Smiling, he lifted her hand for another kiss. "I trust you won't take it wrong if I say that I quite adore you, Helen Magnus."

"No, I don't see how I _could_ take it wrong. Are you leaving, James? Shall I see you out?"

"No, I know the way. You rest."

"No, it would be impolite not to see my best friend as far as the door. Is your carriage waiting or shall I arrange for ours?"

"It's a fair night. I'd rather walk. Sometimes the cool air and the quiet give me a sense of clarity I can't find in my own sitting room."

"Then I suppose I'll let you walk. Is it safe?"

"Safe enough. As a gentleman, I shouldn't admit it, but I don't go about at night unarmed."

"Then I won't worry. But I will see you to the door."

"If someone should see!" he protested quietly.

"Rumours will fly, of course. As they will whether you leave at this hour with or without an escort. So I'll see you to the door and smooth things over with Father as best I can if needs be. You know he always wants to think the best of me. It won't be hard."

"No, of course not," he conceded, helping her to her feet. "And it's a foggy night..."

"Most nights are, lately. I doubt anyone would be able to see as far as our front door."

"Then there's no harm in you seeing me out."

Smiling, he took her arm, tucking it under his own and walking in silence with her from the bedroom and down the stairs. He still looked abstracted and thoughtful, but not in the same distressing way he had earlier in the evening. This was his mind as it was when he had set it towards solving a puzzle. He would be fine. He would solve these murders. He would carry on with his life.

He started to step out into the foggy night, but stopped on the front step and turned to face her again, his smile loving but still shy.

"Thank you, Helen."

She smiled warmly in answer, nodding. "Of course, James. Come any time you need, not just during this case, but _any_ time you need."

"It's so good of you." He took her hand, without any hesitation this time, squeezing and tenderly kissing her fingers again.

"Will you be all right? I hate to make you leave."

"You're not forcing me. If anything, leaving now is something I demand of myself. I... it's better that I leave now."

He seemed to be struggling with himself a bit, so she didn't push the issue, wary of the consequences. "Very well, James. I'll see you at class tomorrow."

"Later today, actually. But thank you for your kindness."

"Later today, then."

"Will you tell John I was here?"

She hesitated, then admitted, "I'd better not."

"No, better not," he agreed with a sad smile. "Thank you again. Good night, Helen."

She stood and watched him vanish into the thick fog, her own mind abruptly troubled now that her dear friend was gone. She'd once loved London so much, but something terrible was happening here now, something his work put them near the centre of. She bolted the door firmly behind her once she was safely back inside, double-checking the locks before heading back to her room. Sleep was a long time coming when she got back to her room. Somehow, her home didn't feel as safe as it had only a few hours before.

She would have liked a pair of strong arms to soothe her to sleep. She hadn't felt lonely before his arrival but, since James's departure, she was lonely and restless, and a bit miserable. Morning couldn't come quickly enough.

**The End**

 


End file.
